The Adventure of the Bed and Breakfast
by I M Sterling
Summary: Sherlock and Molly travel to a Bead and Breakfast to prevent a murder. Rated T. Sherlolly if you turn your head and cough.


**This is another Sherlock tale (This one is loosely based on the Speckled Band, but since I used a slightly different plot device I changed the title). It's set in the same 'verse with my first Sherlock fic, The Adventure of the Empty House. I'm slowly building the relationship between the two of them in the style of the original books…case by case. That said…Sherlock belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Molly Hooper is the brain-child of the marvelous team of Gatniss and Moffat.**

 **The Case of the Bed and Breakfast**

Time had passed (as time tends to do).

Molly Hooper had somehow never managed to leave Baker Street after her initial 'visit'. She moved into the empty rooms at 221C. The two-bedroom flat suited both her and Toby. Mrs. Hudson was happy to have a second lodger to look in on from time to time (not to mention an overweight tabby to spoil)…Molly was happy because it reduced her rent…Sherlock was happy because it allowed him to keep a close eye on his sometime helpmate in crime solving.

John and Mary were very busy with their newborn daughter Sherrie Locke Watson.

Still, it was a bit of a shock when Molly was awakened at seven fifteen on a Saturday morning by a grinning Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock?" She was out of bed almost instantly. "Is it Mary? The baby?"

His eyes took in her faded red pajama top and clashing green shorts.

"Nothing so dire. I simply have a case that I believe will require your input…a young man showed up on the doorstep this morning early enough to wake Mrs. Hudson. I think you'll find his story riveting."

Molly might have grumbled a bit, but Sherlock handed her a coffee.

She sighed, giving up all protest as a bad job. They both knew she'd give in sooner rather than later. "Let me dress. I won't be long."

The glee that sometimes bubbled to the surface when Sherlock encountered a fascinating crime showed in his grin as he bounded up the stair. He turned on the third step. "Don't take too long Molly. We'll need to catch the ten o'clock train if we are going to prevent a murder."

SHSHSH

A thin, dark haired boy was perched on the sofa when Molly walked into Sherlock's flat.

Sherlock ushered her into what had once been exclusively John's chair. It still was John's chair most of the time. Molly had a job after all. Being a pathologist at Bart's didn't leave her much time to race after villains through the mustard fog (or whatever it was that Sherlock and John did).

"Mr. Storm has an interesting story Molly."

The young man gave a bitter laugh. Molly eyed him thoughtfully. He couldn't be more than eighteen.

"My mother married Edwin Royal when I was two and my sister Victoria was three and a half. My father passed before I was born and Mother was struggling to run the family bed and breakfast alone. Ed was a local veterinarian…he stopped working at his private practice when I was around five, to help run the bed and breakfast full time." The young man took a deep breath. "Mother died when I was twelve. Car accident. The B&B is busy during the holiday season, but it's a long, lonely way away from anything else, so it was always just me and Vicky during the off season. And my stepfather of course."

His dark eyes met Molly's. "I was telling Mr. Holmes here that it wasn't bad. It was hard work during the summer months, but we were alright on money the rest of the year. My sister had a lot of expenses."

Sherlock interrupted. "Miss Victoria was an insulin dependent diabetic."

Molly felt a deep foreboding.

"Was?"

"Vicky died last winter."

Molly wanted to hug the forlorn boy in front of her, but she didn't think it was very professional to do so.

He seemed to recover with a maturity that looked odd in someone so young. "She was always a talented cook, even when Mum was alive she helped with the kitchen. When…mummy died, the cook quit, and Vicky took over. She was about fourteen." He grinned a little, obviously remembering something that made him a bit proud. "She was fantastic. We had more business than we could deal with really, and some of them were pretty high-brow clients. By the time she turned eighteen, she was being offered a lot of money to cook other places. She never thought twice about turning them down until this one guy, Wes, offered to do a cooking show with her online. She could do that from home, earn a few extra pounds."

"Wes bought her a little diamond ring and asked her to marry him. Vicky said yes of course. Any idiot could see how in love they were."

Sherlock interrupted again. "I just pulled up your mother's will from the online public records database. The bed and breakfast was left to you and your sister, but your stepfather was you guardian…correct?"

The young man shrugged. "I've never really looked at it. Vicky took care of all of that."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"By all means Mr. Storm, continue."

"Vicky was planning this big wedding; Ed was helping her…planning what we should do about the menagerie…"

Molly interrupted.

"What?"

"Oh…Ed was a veterinarian. He has a lot of injured animals that he's always picking up…exotic pets that nobody wants, animals that get hit on the side of the road. Vicky and I called it the menagerie."

He smiled again and then his thoughts took a darker path; he sighed. "She was just nearly nineteen when she died. The family quarters are all on the ground floor of the house. Ed and mother's room was at the beginning of the hall, then my sister's room, and finally mine. So I heard her very clearly when she screamed out the night she died."

He shuddered. "I ran into the room and she was thrashing around on the bed. I heard a weird clicking sound and a minute afterward Ed came in, red in the face. He called for an ambulance and tried to help, but her heart stopped before they came. He was still working on her when they finally showed up. He tried to keep her heart pumping. He's not a kind man, but I'll never forget that he tried to save my sister."

Sherlock's arm darted out and pulled the boy's jumper sleeve up. A large handprint was very visible on his arm.

Sherlock snarled. "I wouldn't call him a kind man."

The boy blushed. "Ed's a big man; I don't think he really knows his own strength."

Sherlock did not look convinced.

"Why seek me out now? Your sister died a year ago, if I'm not mistaken."

Molly could see the death certificate and a copy of the autopsy report up on the computer. She wondered idly if he'd hacked it himself or if it was a favor from someone he'd once 'helped out'. Detailed autopsy reports were NOT public record.

"My room had some water damage three days ago. My stepfather made me move into Vicky's room." The boy trembled. "I couldn't sleep. I was laying there when I heard that same clicking noise. The odd one from the night she died. I didn't think, I just got out of bed and got dressed. I got on the first train to London this morning and came to see you."

Sherlock frowned at him. "Why?'

"Because they never figured out what killed my sister. I think it was something in that room. I want you to prove it. I can't pay you now, but I'll be eighteen next month and I can write a post-dated check from my trust fund."

"Your mother set up this fund?"

The boy shook his head slightly. "It'd from my father's family. They died, but they didn't like the fact that Mummy remarried and they didn't trust Ed. Vicky and I split the estate. Ed said that the whole thing reverted to me when Vicky died."

"You have a small stipend from the trust until you turn eighteen?"

The boy looked shocked. "Yeah. I always forget it's there."

Sherlock raised a brow. "You remembered it today. That is how a young man of otherwise limited means was able to afford the fasted train ticket available and get to London in so short a time."

"Will you come? Just tell me the amount and I'll write the check."

Sherlock shook his head graciously. Molly knew what he would say before he said it. It was one of the reasons she love… _admired_ the man so much.

"You are quite welcome to defray any expenses I have once your funds are available to you. It won't make the least bit of difference in how I handle your case."

The boy's eyes were suspiciously shiny.

Sherlock continued without seeming to notice that the situation was precariously close to the dreaded state: sentiment. "Return home and book a reservation for Mr. and Mrs. Sherringford Smith. Tell your stepfather that we rang while he was seeing to his animals."

"We don't get many guests this time of year…it's bleak."

"Your future is the only bleak thing if we don't deal with this immediately, and I need access to the room in order to complete my research. I will come up with a reason. You just get back before your stepfather suspects."

"So you think he did it? You think he killed Vicky?"

"I shall endeavor to find out."

The boy left without another word. Sherlock turned to Molly.

"I hope you intend to accompany me for a quiet weekend at a bed and breakfast."

She tossed back her head and laughed. "Sherlock, things are never quiet with you around. Now what sort of excuse do you have for us to visit this infernal place?"

SHSHSH

Sherlock held her elbow as they disembarked from the train, and Molly found herself wishing she hadn't asked what his plan might be.

She was quite embarrassed with the way people kept beaming at her.

Sherlock noticed her discomfort of course. "You make a lovely mother-to-be Molly."

"That doesn't make this fake belly any easier to deal with. My back is killing me."

Sherlock's hands massaged the small of her back. "Just a bit further: you can lie down once we get there."

There was only one cab in the entire town, and he rushed to meet them. "Mr. and Mrs. Smith?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. If you'll take the bags, I'll get my wife into the cab. She needs to be resting."

The cabby grinned. "Looks about ready to pop."

Molly decided to try out a bit of the story she and Sherlock had concocted on the trip. "Feels that way, but I'm only seven and a half months along."

She groaned slightly as Sherlock handed her into the cab. He leaned down, kissed her forehead, and gave her a tiny wink.

"She needed to get away from her crazy relatives for the weekend, as far away from London as we could get in one day."

The cabbie tipped his hat. "This would be the place then. Never worry, I'll have you there in two tics."

It was considerably more than two tics as they drove to the rambling old Victorian house that served as the Storm family's bed and breakfast.

The cabbie handed them a card as they pulled up. "Here now. If you and the Missus need to leave quickly, you just give me a ring. This goes straight to my cell."

Sherlock feigned a look of surprise so genuine that Molly nearly believed him.

"This establishment is highly rated."

"Well it was once. When Mrs. Storm ran it, it was. When her daughter Vicky ran it, it was. But now…" He looked at the grey gables and shook his grizzled head. "'Most likely that you'll have a lovely visit. I just gave you the number in case. Mr. Edwin gets stranger every year, and there's word in town that boy is none too stable…and little wonder, with his mum and sister dying."

Sherlock neatly pocketed the card. "Thank you. We'll be sure to call if we need a quick escape.'

Molly was quite sure that the underlying seriousness in Sherlock's tone made her slightly nervous.

SHSHSH

Their first glimpse of Edwin Royal came as they waited at an old-fashioned writing desk that was clearly marked 'check in.'

He was a huge man, taller than Sherlock, with big meaty hands and arms that were easily larger than Molly's thighs. He had a dusting of straw-colored hair left on his head and wore tiny round spectacles that seemed to be less than effective if one were judging by the slight squint as he watched them thoughtfully.

For his part, Sherlock played the doting husband and father-to-be rather well, ushering her into a chair, bringing her a pillow for her back, and generally focusing on her rather than seeming to give the man who was waiting to check them in any mind.

He turned and gave the man a slightly apologetic smile. "Sorry, we're up from London. It was a bit of a journey."

The large man nodded. "Just staying two nights?"

"That was the original plan. We'll see if we are sufficiently rested. Her doctor was worried about the stress of London and suggested a holiday."

Molly tried not to wince. Thus the reason why she'd been disguised as a whale…no she just felt like a whale. She looked about nine months pregnant.

Sherlock signed the registry left-handed with a lovely signature nothing like his own. Mr. Edwin frowned. "I do need to see some id for you and the missus."

Molly kept her eyes on her belly. Sherlock would talk their way out of that, no problem.

"Dear, hand me your pocketbook."

She handed it over without protest. Undoubtedly it would be 'lost' or 'stolen.' Sherlock pulled out the id in the front. "Here we are. Molly Smith." He smirked at the id as he flashed it at her. "You are the only person on Earth who looks beautiful in her id." A rather decent picture was on the id with the name Molly Smith.

Sherlock handed over the documents and waited while their host wrote their information in a guestbook that looked like it was thirty years old.

Their documents were returned in due time. "Is there any chance of a first floor accommodation? I didn't think to ask when I made the reservation."

Marcus' stepfather eyed Molly's apparent advanced state of pregnancy warily. "I wish I could say yes Mr. Smith, but the best I can do is the second floor. How close to term is your wife?"

"Seven and a half months." She and Sherlock answered together. He caught her eye and then her hand. Really, he was very good when he chose to play a part.

Sherlock was there to help her up, practically picking her up out of the chair. "We'll be in the room soon, then you can have a bit of a lie in before dinner." He turned to their host. "I was told that you have a supremely able chief during the summer season. Is she here tonight?"

Edwin Royal's face contorted slightly. "You are speaking of my stepdaughter, Victoria. I'm afraid she died last year. I keep an adequate cook during the summer months, but I'm afraid that if you are craving anything more than shepherd's pie, we'd better send an order to the pub in town. They have a boy who will deliver out here and their cook puts on a good spread."

"My wife has a very delicate digestion at the moment. Perhaps something from the pub is in order."

"I'll have my stepson bring a menu up when he brings your bags."

"Thank you."

SHSHSH

Molly was lying down on the bed (both to ease her aching lower back and to maintain the illusion) when a light knock at the door caught Sherlock's ear. He indicated that she should remain in bed, and opened the door.

Marcus Storm was waiting with their bags.

"That was brilliant Mr. Holmes." Sherlock brought his finger to his lips, but smiled just the same. Molly got up and grinned at the boy.

He stared at her rounded belly. "That looks so real."

Sherlock noticed the boy's eyes taking in more than the belly and he steered him firmly away from Molly. "It simulates the weight of an unborn child. Molly was good enough to go along with my ruse. Now, where is the room we are here to investigate?"

Marcus sighed. "We are at the other end of the house, on the first floor."

"Are your stepfather's habits regular?"

Marcus snorted. "He's a tidy cat of a man in many ways, as my mother always said. Once the chores are done, he and I will be in the study all evening. He reads his journals; I do my homework or play games. He locks the house down at nine and lights are out by ten thirty."

"Does he ever leave the house?"

"He has an appointment with the lawyer next Friday, he won't miss that. He also spends two hours every morning tending the menagerie, from five to seven. I'm not sure what he normally does during the winter months during the day while I'm at school."

Sherlock compressed his lips.

"It will have to be in the morning then. Can you sleep in another room tonight?"

The boy shrugged. "I lock my door most nights. Mother always insisted when we were small, with people in and out all the time. But my stepfather has a key of course."

"Still, a boy you age…surely you've slipped out of your window a time or two."

Marcus' lips twitched. "Vicky caught me both times I tried…but I can mess the bed up a bit, stuff some clothing under the duvet."

Sherlock nodded. "Do so, we will open the window for you and you can climb up to this level and sleep in one of the unoccupied rooms."

Once this was arranged, Marcus handed them the menu for the pub and quickly returned to his duties.

Sherlock flipped through the list. "Pity you can't drink Molly…the wine list is rather good." She shrugged.

She groaned as she tried to find a comfortable position. "The pity is that I'll have to sleep in this belly in case someone comes in."

Sherlock looked closely at the room.

"I don't think that will be necessary. You can sleep on the side of the bed that's away from the door. If anyone comes in, I'll deal with them." She tensed and he read her slight nervousness correctly. "We've shared a bed before Molly. I'll be a perfect gentleman."

She shot him a slight smile, remembering those first stressful days he'd been 'dead' and staying in her tiny flat until Mycroft could smuggle him out of the country. "I'll believe that when I see it. Though I know that you're more likely to mention the six ounces I've gained than to take unfair advantage."

Sherlock turned his pale gaze on her. "I'd say it's more like eight ounces, but it has yet to make up for the six pounds that you lost during and after the Moran episode. A nutritious dinner will not go amiss."

She snagged the menu and gave him a wink. "Well, let's see what we can feed the pregnant lady."

SHSHSH

After dinner was consumed, Molly took a blissful shower. A full day in the 'pregnant belly' made her doubt that the pitter-patter of little feet was anywhere in her future.

Of course, the whole idea of little feet was a bit of a moot point considering the way her love life had gone since she met Sherlock Holmes.

"Better?"

She did not jump when she heard that rumbling voice near her ear. She occasionally suspected that he delighted in her response to his voice. It was automatic, just a product of normal estrogen levels…or so she told herself.

She stammered. "Mmm…mmuch better." Damn her tendency to stammer when confronted with consulting detectives.

Sherlock gave her an odd smile. "I don't suppose a day in that contraption was enough to stave off 'baby fever' as Mary so eloquently calls it?"

She gave a light laugh. "Probably for the rest of my life."

"Surely not that long."

"I don't know. My back may never forgive me."

Within seconds she found herself lying on her stomach while Sherlock's clever fingers worked at the knots she'd acquired over the day. She felt herself relax under his hands, and she was dozing when a light tapping at the window woke her.

Sherlock cursed under his breath.

"I didn't expect you so soon Marcus."

The boy grinned as Sherlock helped him through the window and he took in Molly's sleepy eyes and wet hair. "Busy?"

Sherlock gave the young man a quelling look. "Did you leave the room as we discussed?"

Marcus sobered, remembering why the detective was present. "Yes. I'm going to sleep at the very end of the hall. I made up the bed in there earlier."

Sherlock put a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "We'll have this sorted soon. Go get some sleep. Will your stepfather check on you in the morning?"

Marcus shrugged. "He'll bang on the door if I'm not up by seven when he comes in from feeding and watering the menagerie."

"Set an alarm then. I'll slip down and examine the room before he returns…you'll need to be in the room by that time…I don't suppose you have the key to your own door?"

The boy gave a half-grin. "I'm not _supposed_ to."

"Good, it will be safer for you to enter from the hall rather than gamboling down the wall like a monkey with your stepfather out of the house." Sherlock steepled his fingers and stared into space for a long moment. "Other than this nightly deviation, go about your normal routine."

Molly gave Marcus an encouraging smile and he slipped out of the room.

Sherlock turned toward her. "You were almost asleep."

She smiled. "My back is much better, thanks."

He nodded. "I'm off to shower. I'll be back shortly."

She scooted over to 'her' side of the bed. She spent a few moments contemplating how strange her life had become before sleep overcame her. She only barely woke when Sherlock moved the blankets to accommodate his long frame…but it was enough for her to roll over, fling an arm around his waist, and snuggle into his chest.

Sherlock, though somewhat surprised, quickly acclimated to the situation. If anyone had been awake in the room, they might have seen the world's only consulting detective fall asleep with a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

SHSHSH

She woke the next morning with Sherlock standing over her…again. It would be supremely creepy if she wasn't so fond of the man.

His face showed mild regret. "I'm sorry to wake you, but you need to get into the costume before we have visitors."

She looked at the door. "Marcus?"

"Already up and doing his morning chores before class. He'll be gone most of the day."

There was a tray to one side with coffee and fruit.

Sherlock handed her the cup.

"You re rather good at playing the doting husband."

He smirked. "I watch John and Mary. They made an excellent template."

"Am I playing my part well enough?"

He cocked his head to the side. "You might kiss me."

"What?"

"Well, when John brings Mary a coffee, she kisses him, normally on the cheek. Then the back of John's neck turns a touch red."

Molly kept her opinions about why John's neck was red to herself. Instead she reached up for Sherlock's freshly shaved face and guided him within kissing distance. She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek and inhaled his aftershave happily.

She took a long drink of coffee and wondered if that was a slight blush across his cheek, or if that was simply the early morning light.

SHSHSH

"Remember, It's Sherringford."

Molly rolled her eyes. "It's hard to forget a name like that."

He didn't comment as he ushered her into the room. She thought he might be overplaying the solicitous husband a tad, but she didn't argue. Once he had her settled, she reached up and cupped his cheek. "Thank you Sherringford." He gave her a light kiss on the forehead.

The cook bustled into the room. "Ah there you are! Had a bit of a lie in this morning? Not that I blame you, dear. I know when I had my five my feet never stopped swelling."

Molly was drinking orange juice. "It's mostly my back."

The older woman frowned. "Did your doctor clear you to travel love? Are you sure you aren't having contractions?"

Sherlock put a hand over Molly's. "Her doctor recommended getting out of London for a weekend. He thought the stress and noise was bad for the pregnancy."

Molly rested her hand on her belly like she'd seen other pregnant women do. The clouds lifted from the cook's face. "Ah well, I'm sure the doctor knows best. But you let your husband know if it keeps up."

Molly gave the woman a smile, and she bustled out to bring in enough eggs to feed an army.

Marcus walked in and gave the cook a small hug. "I'm off to class Hetty."

"Did you eat any of this good breakfast I've made?"

Marcus waved a piece of toast as he hurried out the door. Hetty came over and started filling Molly's plate to the brim.

Fearing that the tower of food was going to topple, Molly tried to stay her hand. "No really…"

"You are too thin dear…you are all baby!"

Molly gave Sherlock a panicked look, but he was hiding a smile.

Edwin Royal walked in as Molly tried in vain to protest. He barked "Hetty, leave the guests alone."

The older woman was silent as she brought out kippers. Molly felt slightly bad for protesting so vehemently. Mr. Royal turned to them. "Do you have plans for the day?"

Sherlock began to rhapsodize about the historical implications of some of the foundations of the local churches…Mr. Royal's eyes glazed over long before he wound down his breathless monologue.

"And will Mrs. Smith be joining you on this tour?"

Sherlock shook his head sadly, the picture of an academic in the throes of the pursuit of his particular obsession. "Sadly, my wife is under orders to relax this weekend, and her doctor is under the impression that crawling around gathering samples of limestone foundations wouldn't be best for her at the moment."

Molly rolled her eyes. "I brought a book."

Mr. Royal smiled lightly at her, dismissing her as the boring foil to an eccentric husband. Which wasn't far from the truth.

A rumbling voice in her ear captured her attention. "You looked sad for a moment Molly. What were you thinking?"

They were alone in the room. She'd accidentally let her mind wander.

"It's nothing, Sher…Sherringford."

"If it distracts you Molly, it is the exact opposite of nothing."

"I think I'm ready to spend my Sunday afternoon in bed with a good book."

Sherlock sighed quietly but led her up to the room.

"What are you really going to be doing today?"

He allowed himself a small smile. "This and that."

"Do you need me?"

"I'd rather have you close, but the pregnancy fiction must be maintained. I suggest that you actually do spend the day resting. We might have work to do tonight if my suspicions are correct."

"Alright then."

Sherlock tied his scarf and bundled himself in his coat. "Lock the door while I'm out, but stay in the costume unless you decide to take a bath."

She made a shooing motion with her hand. "Go on."

He kissed her forehead again and walked out.

SHSHSH

Her day was largely uneventful. Sherlock returned shortly before noon with some fabulous fish and chips he'd picked up.

"What did you discover?"

"Not what I expected. Her tests were clean. Perfectly clean without a hint of anything on any of the toxicology reports. She was in perfect health except for the tell-tale symptom of being dead."

Molly was reading the file over Sherlock's shoulder. "That's odd."

He looked up at her like a bloodhound on the scent. "What's odd?'

"Well, her tests are clean, but the toxicology screening only took three days."

Sherlock frowned. "Even with it being a priority test…"

"That is very, very fast. I don't think Bart's has a three day turnaround and we run the tests every day."

"And since they obviously don't run the tests often in such a small village, the odds of a legitimate three day turn around are…"

Molly shrugged. "Slim, if there was actually anything in the system. According to this they only ran broader spectrum tests to check for common drugs. That leaves out a long list of toxins."

She sighed. "Did you find the source of the clicking noise in Marcus' room?"

Sherlock brightened. "I believe so. We'll know tonight."

SHSHSH

Marcus Storm was sleeping in their bed while Sherlock and Molly waited in the dark. Sherlock was armed with a revolver and they were in the darkest corner of the little room.

It was chilly sitting on the floor, and Molly rubbed her arms absently a bit after midnight. Sherlock wrapped his left arm (the one that wasn't occupied with holding the gun) around her.

She was warmer after that.

The alarm clock in the boy's room was old; a brass antique that made a relentless tick-tock as the seconds passed. It was sometime after one in the morning when a curious noise alerted them both, a loud click.

Sherlock pointed his gun and Molly held up the flashlight.

Dr. Edwin Royal was standing over his stepson's bed, syringe in hand.

"Put it down, slowly."

The man did as he was bid, but they didn't have another word from him as Sherlock called the local police.

SHSHSH

Detective Lestrade looked decidedly grumpy as he climbed out of the unmarked car.

"What's he pulled you into this time Molly?"

Molly kept a warm arm around Marcus. Sherlock frowned. "Just preventing a psychopath from eliminating the last heir to the Storm fortune and taking it for his own. The local police are being…difficult. And they'll never make the case without the information I have."

Lestrade grinned at his consulting detective. It wasn't every day that Sherlock was making someone else look like an idiot, and truth be told he relished watching it from this side of things. "Well, let's go give it to them."

 **SHSHSH**

"He needs ten minutes with the man."

"Detective, this isn't London."

"You have him standing over the boy's bed with a syringe of paralytic in his hand, a rope, and a forged suicide note." Greg crossed his arms. "Now there's a good chance a jury is going to give you attempted murder with that one…but you won't get anything on the sister or mother without more evidence." He nodded to Sherlock. "He can get it for you if you'll move out of his way and let him."

The local detective seemed to bite back an oath, maybe a string of them. Then, with a great sigh he conceded. "Ten minutes. And if he does anything to put my case in jeopardy, he'll stay in my jail until it rots out from under him."

Molly watched Sherlock roll his eyes, but he didn't say anything.

 **SHSHSH**

Sherlock didn't sit in the cold metal chair. Instead he paced with his hands clasp behind his back.

Edwin Royal sneered at him.

"Smith. That was a wretched alias. And your poor wife…dragging her along."

Sherlock smiled but didn't correct him. "It saved a life." He slipped into the chair finally. "I just have one question. Did you know that your stepchildren were going to inherit a financial empire before you killed your wife, or did you kill her simply because your mistress was insisting?"

The other man sputtered.

"Oh yes, we know about your mistress. Once we realized that there was no way that the toxicology scan on Victoria was real, I had a good idea of where to find her too. Yolanda Hammond, she was once your assistant when you were in private practice as a veterinarian, currently employed at the local hospital as a lab tech. I don't know if she helped you murder your wife or simply goaded you into it…but it's quite clear that she helped you cover up Victoria's death at the very least. Adding rare snake venom to her insulin and letting her give it to herself via her pump? Absolutely brilliant…as long as you had a way to fake the toxicology screening. There wouldn't even be a tell-tale syringe puncture to find. That gave you a full year to plant rumors that Marcus was suicidal while you took most of his stipend and spent it on your now very demanding mistress. Again, brilliant, as long as you are a cold, calculating psychopath willing to do anything for a pound."

Edwin leaned back in his chair. "You'll never prove it."

"I don't have to. Another detective is presenting this information to Ms. Hammond as we speak. I doubt she will protect you once we exhume the body of Victoria Storm. Snake venom should still be detectable through a fresh toxicology report. Once we have proof that she faked the report, she'll sing like a nightingale. After all, you were planning to rid yourself of her after Marcus was safely buried. Since there was no apparent tie between you, all it would take is a romantic trip to the cliffs and a swift push."

Sherlock held up a brochure. "We found this in your office. You've already made reservations in her name…but why in her name?" He smirked as he waved the papers "That is suggestive."

"You don't have anything but hearsay and circumstantial evidence."

"But you did do it."

"Prove it."

Sherlock looked almost smug as he walked through the door.

"If you play with matches Ms. Hammond…"

The woman sobbed. "I didn't know! I swear I didn't. His wife was just an accident. It was a car accident. And Victoria was in the room with the snake…that's what he said. He just didn't want to lose Marcus…"

"You mean the young man he tried to paralyze and hang earlier this morning?"

She looked wild for a moment and broke down into a sobbing, hysterical mess.

Sherlock eyed her coldly. "I'd feel more sympathy for you Ms. Hammond if those weren't Jimmy Choo shoes on your feet. Deceived or not you certainly played your part here. I advise you to make a clean breast of it to the good detective and perhaps you'll sleep better at night…and perhaps you'll get out of Pentonville before you hit menopause, though I wouldn't bet on that."

SHSHSHS

Sherlock studied her as she packed the 'baby belly'.

"It would have led to fewer questions if you'd simply worn it home."

Molly rolled her eyes. "I can answer most of those questions with one word Sherlock 'padding'. It's heavy, and it hurts my back and there is no reason to wear it home. It won't come to any harm riding in a suitcase."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't be absurd. What do I care about the stupid prop? It's served the purpose I intended it to serve, and I prefer not to bring you on dangerous cases at all…"

Molly narrowed her eye. "I've been involved with plenty of dangerous cases Sherlock."

He smirked slightly. "You aren't going to accuse me of molly-coddling you, are you?"

"Like I haven't heard that one before."

He was silent for a moment, then his eyes flitted to the suitcase again.

Molly gave a tired sigh. She really did not want to be talked into wearing a ridiculous fake pregnancy belly on an eight hour train ride. "What is it Sherlock?'

He gave her a slightly puppyish look. She was in trouble.

"I just wanted to make sure that you were joking."

"About?"

"When you were complaining about never wanting children because of the disguise…I wanted to make sure I hadn't accidentally eradicated the urge because I needed your help. This case was important, but not worth harming you or influencing your future decisions."

She ducked her head and laughed softly. "I was just grousing Sherlock, never fear. If I don't have children, it will probably be because I haven't found anyone to have them with. I'm not brash enough to try to raise them on my own."

He nodded and helped her onto the train, something of his recent charade remaining in his movements as his mind was obviously occupied elsewhere. Molly wasn't perturbed; she pulled out her book and spent a quiet hour reading as the sound of the rails lulled her into a near-trance.

She was brought out of it by some of the most unexpected words she had ever heard Sherlock utter. "You would make an excellent mother, Molly Hooper."

His mood changed suddenly. "Now, Mike has given you a few days off to rest after the case…how would you feel about helping me run an experiment with a severed pig's foot?"

She grinned at his enthusiasm. "That sounds lovely Sherlock."


End file.
